


Dog-Tired

by poolsidescientist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Dogs, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:07:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poolsidescientist/pseuds/poolsidescientist
Summary: After the events of Avatar, Skinner offers to dog-sit Queequeg for a weekend in an attempt to clear his head. Things do not go as planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the X-files or any of it's characters.
> 
> Timeline: Post-Avatar but before Quagmire (for obvious reasons)
> 
> Warning: Vomit mention
> 
> Special shoutout to @jackieisboring for giving me the idea and to @governmentcantdenythis for sharing her veterinary knowledge (again both from tumblr).

Three hours into dog-sitting and F.B.I. Assistant Director Walter Skinner already regretted his decision. His house, already in shambles over almost ending things with his wife, was covered in fur. His favourite pair of shoes had been completely destroyed. Worst of all, he had removed his wedding ring for five minutes, and the tiny orange demon had decided to make a snack of it. This dog was turning out to be a bigger headache than agent Mulder.

It had been a difficult week. All his weeks were difficult weeks. Even as assistant director to the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Skinner never had any real sway over Washington politics. There were only so many strings he could pull. Keeping his agents in line was hard enough, especially the troublesome twosome that made up the X-Files division, but working with his superiors was especially worrisome. They didn’t seem to play by the same rules as everybody else. Worst of all, he was probably going to get lung cancer from the black-lunged bastard who filled his office with lies and cigarette butts. At this rate, the old geezer would probably outlive him. It would only be a matter of time until the shadowy figures who framed him for murder and tried to kill his wife would come back. But this time, Skinner would be better at dealing with them.

If he ever figured out how to deal with the four-legged fiend staring innocently into his eyes. Early on in their marriage, Sharon had wanted a dog. He had almost considered it back then, back when they still knew each other as people. Skinner regretted shutting her out for so long. So long in fact that he never even noticed. It was a gradual process of letting things pile up. They would have a lot to talk about in a few days when she got out of the hospital.

Right now, getting his wedding ring back was his priority. It couldn’t stay trapped in the Pomeranian’s stomach forever. Queequeg, the dog’s name was Queequeg, after the cannibal in ‘Moby Dick’. A childhood favourite of agent Scully. The saner half of the X-files division. Agent Scully who had just wrapped up the case of her sister’s murder, the result of a botched assassination. Another headache of a case. More of a stomach ache in his case. Skinner did not appreciate being shot, especially not by rogue government employees. Not that there was much justice to come of it. One culprit was assassinated before he could tell them anything, the other disappeared back into the woodwork. Maybe if Scully had a dog back then, it could have alerted and saved her sister from her untimely death and it’s horrifying consequences. The mental image of the tiny Pomeranian mauling former FBI agent Krycek within an inch of his life was almost enough to make Skinner smile.

The mental image of Queequeg mauling anything other than his house seemed like a distant fantasy at this point. He would have to clean up the mess before his wife got home. But before any of that, he would have to get his wedding ring out of the dog. Agent Scully had left him the number of a veterinarian’s office should anything go awry. Embarrassed by the situation, he took a deep breath and dialed.

“Capital Pet Care Veterinary Clinic, how may I help you?” Answered a cheery, likely heavily caffeinated, receptionist.

“Hi, umm…there’s no easy way to say this but I’m dog sitting for the weekend and, well, the dog ate a ring…” Skinner grimaced as he told the story. He could hear the muffled laughter on the other side of the phone.

“Oh, okay, sorry about that. Would you mind describing the dog?”

“Orange Pomeranian, the dog’s name is Queequeg.” Answered Skinner, one eye always watching it.

“Ahhhh, Dana’s dog! Poor thing keeps getting fleas-”

“Fleas?” Skinner interrupted. The last thing he needed was a house full of fleas.

“Yeah, they had bedbugs a while back too.”

“Bedbugs?”

“Yeah, something about staying in terrible motels. I’m guessing you guys travel a lot for work. Wait, are you the co-worker that her mom’s convinced she’s in love with?” Inquired the receptionist.

“No.” Skinner stated. It appeared everyone and their veterinarian knew that Scully’s feeling towards agent Mulder extended beyond mere friendship. Watching the two of them make eyes at each other like lovesick teenagers too proud to admit their feelings every single time he saw them together was yet another cause of his migraines. Part of him wanted to intervene in their relationship, but part of him wanted to know just how long it would take for his two troublesome agents to figure things out for themselves. “Both of them are currently at work right now. Neither of them need to know about this incident.”

“Understood sir,” the receptionist answered dejectedly, “I’ll go talk to the vet for a minute, please hold the line”.

Skinner waited patiently for several minutes with the phone against his ear. Queequeg had curled up next to him on the couch, panting gently. He had to admit the dog was cute. When he wasn’t devouring Skinner’s personal items that was. He was lonely. His wife was still in the hospital and despite being let off the murder charges, Skinner continued to feel alienated from his colleagues. When he overheard agent Scully complain about not being able to find a dog-sitter for the weekend, he had volunteered for the job. Not that she was particularly enthusiastic about going to investigate crop circles in Iowa to begin with, but she accepted his offer. Perhaps sensing his need for a change of pace. Until Sunday morning, Queequeg was his to supervise.

“Okay, sorry for the wait.” Announced the receptionist after a ten-minute pause. “Do you remember how long ago the ring was ingested?”

“About an hour and a half, no less than two,” reported Skinner.

“Good to know, very important. The best thing we can do is to induce vomiting. Do you have any hydrogen peroxide?”

“I should, it was under the bathroom sink.”

“Wonderful, now usually what you do is administer hydrogen peroxide orally every 20 minutes until the dog vomits. In your case, until you get your ring back. Give the dog 1 teaspoon per ten pounds of weight. Now, according to his last weighing, Queequeg is 6.4 pounds so you’ll want to give him half a teaspoon. Is this doable for you, sir?”

“It should be.”

“That’s great, and if you see any complications or he’s still got problems tomorrow call us back and you might have to bring him in,” explained the receptionist.

“Alright, thanks, have a good night.”

“Thanks, and best of luck!”

With that he hung up. Queequeg had stopped panting and was sleeping peacefully on his now furry couch. Getting him to vomit was going to be no easy task. Skinner got off the couch gingerly, assuming the dog to be a light sleeper. All he needed to do was find the hydrogen peroxide under the bathroom sink. He tiptoed over and opened the door. It creaked gently but not enough to wake Queequeg. The cupboard was mostly bare and a brown bottle of peroxide sat in the back. It was covered in dust and dog fur. How dog fur got to the back of his cabinet when he had been dog-sitting for less than four hours was something Skinner would never understand. He took the bottle out and wiped it with a tissue.

Measuring spoons were another thing Skinner rarely used. Sharon liked to bake, her coffeecakes were legendary, but since she left the measuring spoons sat idly on a shelf in the kitchen. He still hadn’t decided whether he’d tell her about this incident or not. It would depend on whether or not he got his wedding ring back in one piece. After a quick rinse, the measuring spoons were as good as new, hopefully his ring would be too.

With his bowl full of supplies, Skinner went back to the couch where Queequeg continued to doze. He scratched the dog behind the ear to wake him up. Shoving a half-teaspoon of hydrogen peroxide down his throat as he yawned. Easy enough. Now was the tricky part; waiting for the dog to vomit. His watch read 8:45pm, at nine he would try again.

Nine o’clock rolled around and the Pomeranian was still peaceful. He didn’t seem to be suffering, just napping happily. He must have expelled all his energy destroying Skinner’s house. The next half-teaspoon of peroxide went down easily as well. No sign of distress but no sign of nausea either. Queequeg got up from his corner of the couch and curled up in Skinner’s lap. It was strangely comforting. He couldn’t help but pet the dog as he flicked channels. There was nothing worth watching on TV so he turned to the weather channel and kept it on as background noise. It was supposed to rain tomorrow according to the weather announcer. It was also supposed to rain today but there had been clear skies since he got up in the morning. Fifteen minutes had passed. Take three.

This time Queequeg clenched his jaws at the sight of the measuring spoon. They were surprisingly strong for a 6.4-pound dog. It took Skinner almost five minutes to pry them open. The dog shook his head as he swallowed. He stretched for a few seconds. Then, he proceeded to retch into Skinner’s lap and expel a pile of vomit at least half his size as he hopped off the couch. Skinner was silently grateful he’d changed out of his suit and into an old pair of jeans. These would have to go straight into the wash and the couch would need a cleaning too. He searched through the pile of vomit. No ring. At least not yet. He would have to track down the Pomeranian. By the time he cleaned himself up and put on new pants it was time to try again.

And where was the dog but lying peacefully on his bed. The one clean thing left in his house. This time he would lay a towel out in case the dog threw up again. The towel was covered in fur. That didn’t matter anymore. It was better than nothing. His bedroom floor was cold and hard. Or so Skinner thought as he tripped over a warm, wet patch. Breaking his fall in one hand and catching his glasses in the other, he slid across the floor, frightening Queequeg who promptly scampered out of the room. Neither of them were having a very good evening.

It was then that Skinner felt a hard object against his foot. There must have been another pile of vomit. He sat down on the floor and inspected the wet patch. Sticking his hand in amidst the half-digested dog kibble, he felt the warm slimy metal of his wedding ring. With the last tissue in his pocket, he wiped it clean. It shone in the moonlight. He hadn’t been happier to see that ring since his wedding day. He hadn’t been this happy in a long time. Not over something so silly.

Skinner stood up slowly so he wouldn’t trip on the wet floor. It had to be cleaned but that could wait. Washing off Queequeg’s dinner was most important. Despite the mess, everything turned out to be alright. He washed his hands and put the ring back on. It belonged on his finger. While he would never tell anyone at work about this incident, he was sure his wife would appreciate the anecdote when he visited her tomorrow. For now, he would take things one day at a time. Fix one thing at a time. And there was a lot of cleaning to do. Skinner noticed the crust of dog puke on his feet as he reached to the back of the cupboard to put the hydrogen peroxide away. He also noticed a mostly empty bottle of bubble bath next to it and pulled it out. Everyone needed a break sometimes, even him.


End file.
